


Rhapsody in Blue(berry)

by BestTrashLife82



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 2P Alastor is in Hell for a Reason, Blood, Body Horror, Demonic Themes, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Masochism, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BestTrashLife82/pseuds/BestTrashLife82
Summary: An unnamed sinner at the Hazbin Hotel is matched in depravity by Alastor 2P, a sweet blue variant of The Radio Demon whipped up by the talented, creative anic-mj. Same main character as Satanic Static, but reading that is not necessary because this is just hideous violent smut. Wait, so was that one. None of this is necessary!WHO/WHAT IS 2P ALASTOR:2P Alastor
Relationships: 2P Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Character, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> There will be 3 chapters

It was a sultry, stifling evening in hell when there came a soft, musical series of knocks on her door. In fact it was the quietest rendition of “Shave and a Haircut,” so quiet that it was almost as if the person knocking hoped to be ignored. But she heard and looked through the peephole to see nothing but the color blue. 

“Who is it?” She called out.

“Sorry to b-bother you,” came the reply, so quiet she had to strain to hear, followed by more soft spoken words she couldn’t make out. 

Frustrated, she opened the door, only to gasp and shut it again immediately. 

It was Alastor. Only, it wasn’t? It was his height, his shape, and even made soft radio static noises like he did. But this creature was wrong. Instead of infernal bloody red, his clothing and hair were blue. So blue against the dull reds and browns of the hallway of the Hazbin Hotel, his coloring stood out like a bold mistake, a mockery of the demon she knew. But that wasn’t even the strangest part. What had caused her to shut the door in his face was what was wrong with his face. In place of Alastor’s smile, which was as essential a part of him as arms and legs, was a soft, sad bow curving down. A frown. It would have been less shocking to see him without a head entirely.

Knowing him, it was a trick; some weird joke to provoke amusement in that twisted mind. 

“Stop this please!” She called out, back against the door. “I’ll do whatever you want! Just, go back to normal!” Had Alastor ever been normal? “Er, at least, go back to usual?”

Shuffling noises from the other side of the door followed a clearing of his throat. “Please allow me to explain.” The voice sounded smooth now where it had stammered before. 

She took a deep breath and opened the door again. He was still there, still blue, still frowning. And then she made the dire mistake of looking directly into his eyes. Large, liquid, and blue, his eyes trembled with unshed tears, and sparkled with reflected light. Just under the liquid layer of tears, shadows swam and shifted past. His eyes were sad and haunted and terrible. 

“I,” he began. When he met her own gaze, his voice faltered. “I, that is, I was sent here for you, you see.”

“I don’t see,” she said, moving her gaze to his soft blue hair to avoid his eyes. “Are you Alastor? This is a prank, right? Something you’re doing to be funny?” 

“No! Oh, no,” he said, his voice smoothing out again. “I am him. Alastor, that is. But not the one you know. Obviously. That one, he smiles. You can see that I do not.”

“I didn’t think there was enough room in hell for more than one Radio Demon.” Hell, already overpopulated, surely could not accommodate two Alastor-shaped beings with two Alastor-sized egos. 

“There isn’t! I am from another hell, different from this one. There, everything is dark and cold where here it is lurid and hot. Your Alastor, who smiles, opened a portal and pulled me through from there to here. Not with his hands though.” The blue demon tilted his head to the side and gazed downwards with regret. “He would never touch me.”

“Another hell?” She wondered if there existed another version of herself who was opposite to her, with softer skin and only one row of teeth and fingers that could hold things without cutting into them. She became weirdly jealous of this hypothetical doppelgänger. 

“No, no.” Alastor wagged a blue-clawed finger in front of her face. “You cannot go there. Only demons like me, with paradoxical levels of power, can travel between. And it is still full of torment and misery like this one. Nothing about it is better, just different.”

“Why would Alastor bring another version of himself here?”

“Well, I told you! He brought me here for you.” He peered over her shoulder. “Please, dear, would you let me in? It wouldn’t be proper to discuss this in the hallway where any passing sinner could hear.”

His request was delivered in a warm, reasonable tone, but at the same time, it made her feel more alert. There was a shy eagerness in his posture, something quietly anticipatory about him that she couldn’t quite reconcile with his sad demeanor.

She opened the door wide, and he moved past her smoothly into her room. Taking a seat on the edge of her bed, she gestured to an empty chair in the corner, which he ignored to remain standing, towering over her. 

“Ok,” she sighed. “Can you explain what exactly Alastor sent you to me for?”

“Ah.” His blue gaze dropped and he began fidgeting with his claws. 

“Yes?” She prompted. This Alastor seemed reluctant to speak, whereas the demon she was familiar with would have been rambling smoothly by this point. 

He cleared his throat and toyed with the chain of his monocle. “You and the Radio Demon of this hell have struck a deal, have you not?”

“Yes, that’s right. What about it?”

“And your deal,” his voice became softer, “has certain conditions attached?” 

“Did he tell you what we do for each other?” 

He blinked. Tears glittered on his long eyelashes. 

“He should not be so cruel to you!” He clasped a hand over his mouth suddenly, as though to quell his own outburst. “Oh, forgive me for saying so!”

“Really? He’s not cruel, don’t, um, worry about that. The stuff he does to me sounds painful, but I like it.” She paused. “It might be the best part of existence in hell, come to think of it.”

More tears spilled from his eyes to trail down his face. “But oh! He keeps himself from you and leaves you all alone, so cold, so distant. How long has it been since he’s touched you?” 

She shrugged. “Not sure. A few months? A year? Still not used to the way time moves in eternity, I guess. He keeps me busy with plenty of work though.”

“Yes! Your work!” He said, blinking back his tears and lifting his brows. “You have done a very good job! Which is why you deserve a reward!”

“I do?”

The tall blue Radio Demon sank to his knees in front of her, bowed his head forward, and fluttered his ears sweetly. 

She saw, affixed to one of his tiny ridiculous antlers, a large white gift tag. She reached over and lifted it, feeling a familiar jolt of gentle static shiver up her arm as she did so. The message on the tag was undoubtedly from the Alastor she knew. It read:

_Sinner,_  
_Consider this weird creature a gift to express appreciation for services rendered. Use it however you see fit for however long you like. When you’re done, it will find its way back to where it belongs._  
_Yours,_

_Alastor_

_P.S. Please spare me the details of what you do with it._

A gift? Such a thing was unheard of. The Radio Demon doesn’t give gifts; he makes deals. And there was nothing that sat right about the fact that this gift was a whole demon, another damned mortal soul, not an object, not an “it.” 

She removed the gift tag and carefully impaled it on one sharp fingertip. As the blue Radio Demon watched her do this, his mouth gaped silently. 

“Did you read this? It says you are a gift to me, and for me to use you. Like you’re an object! Calls you ‘it’! What do you make of that?”

He didn’t say anything, but balled one hand into a fist, raised it to his lips, and bit down on his knuckles with sharp yellow teeth until blood spilled over his fist, staining his blue cuff.

A soft, muffled groan sounded within his throat. She stared at him. He met her gaze and a blush spread over his face as he lowered his hand, the self-inflicted bite already healing. 

She took a deep breath and let out a long, low whistle as she recognized his reaction. 

“Well, you like that idea don’t you? That treatment is something you want very much?” She said to him quietly, looking into his soft blue eyes. He closed his eyes, tears trickling out, and bowed his head, his ears flattened in shame. “Hey, hey!” She said, alarmed again at his reaction. “Don’t be like that. I mean, I’m the same way! It takes one to know one, right?” 

“Y-you are not the same way,” he whispered, the blue hues in his eyes shifting, darkening. “But oh, you can see. You see just a little bit more of me. I cannot protest if what you see disgusts you, dear.”

If there were indeed strings attached to her gift, they now knotted with those of her heart, and she felt the pull quite keenly. 

“I didn’t say that. I can’t stop looking at your eyes, you know. They are beautiful and sad. You are beautiful and sad!” 

More tears streamed down his face, enough to fill countless pools for a legion of Alices to drown in. They collected and dripped from the bottom of his monocle. There was no sniffing or snot like the sobbing of a human, though, just a steady stream of uncanny sorrow from his eyes.

“You shouldn’t say such things, oh my dear.” He held her gaze, and she felt herself sink deeper into the blue depths of his eyes. 

Her mouth began to water from wanting him. How soft and tender-hearted he looked, how sweetly timid. A desire to comfort him and consume him panged through her chest with painful intensity. 

“Alastor,” she said, feeling a chill run through her as she called this blue facsimile a familiar name. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? To stop those tears? You are my pretty gift, just for me, and I want you to tell me.” 

A blush burst upon his face again. His eyelids flickered, lashes fluttering, sending tears scattering. What he said next broke everything. 

“Touch me.”


	2. A Soft Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood and explicit sexual content ahoy

“You want me to touch you?” She looked down at her hands and over at him. 

He dropped heavy, dark blue eyelids and avoided her gaze. 

Touching Alastor was mostly forbidden. He alone set the terms and limits of any physical contact, keeping his own space intact while respecting no one else’s. You couldn’t touch him anymore than you could hold smoke in the palm of your hand.

And now his weird, blue alternate double knelt before her, shy yet flushed, and eager for it. For touch. Her touch. 

“I don’t know about that,” she said. “My hands, you see,” she held her hand out, and he immediately grasped her wrist, pulled the back of her hand to his mouth, and pressed his lips softly to her knuckles. 

Alarmed, she pulled her hand back. “Don’t do that! My fingertips could cut right through you!” 

“Oh, Please,” he said. “Touch me.” He reached out and pulled her hand back to his face, cupping her fingers against his jaw. He dragged her fingers along his jawline, letting the diamond-sharp tips cut into his cheek. His black blood spilled from his face to seep into and stain his high velvet collar. 

“Wait just a minute! Let go!”

He released her hand and looked at her apologetically. The cuts on his face sealed up as the stain on his collar remained, now spreading to the white fabric of his shirt.

“Oh my,” he sighed. “Forgive me, but you excite me so. Your fingers! So poignant, so sharp. They feel wonderful. I could get carried away with a sinner like you.”

“Oof,” she sighed, sitting back on the bed and trying to think for a moment. “You are a lot, you know? So needy. I’ll touch you. I want to, very much! But. We should go slowly, ok? Like one thing at a time slowly.”

He breathed in deeply, a heavy drag of static, and traced along his jaw where her fingers had cut into his skin. 

“Yes,” he said. “Slowly. I will be a good and pleasant gift for you. Oh, but!”

“But?” She didn’t like the sound of that.

“I may get too excited, too carried away. You will have to help me calm down, dear. You may need to use this to manage me.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a metal collar attached to a blue leather strap with a looped handle at one end. 

He held the leash up to her in both hands, offering it up as though this was normal, as though he did this all the time. 

She swallowed thickly and took the leash from his hands. The metal of the collar had a strange, shimmering iridescence and smelled like ozone. A light blue silk bow adorned where the leash attached to the collar.

“And what happens when you get carried away?”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, which did not answer the question. “That collar is made from the holy metal of an angelic executioner’s spear. It will hold me if it needs to.”

She stared at the collar. “Do I put it on you now?”

He sucked in a staticky breath. “Do you wish to?”

She set it aside on the table next to the bed. “Not yet.” She patted her lap. “But come here, ok?”

He shuffled forward on his knees and settled his head in her lap, face pressed into her thighs, exposing the tender nape of his neck. She wanted, more than anything, to stroke his hair and pet the place where it was shorn so very short on the back of his head. 

But she’d have to be careful. She curled the upper joints of her fingers, tucking away the sharp fingertips. With her palm, she rubbed the back of his head gently, feeling the deliciously velvety texture of short fuzzy hair.

He made muffled, pleased sounds into her lap. His arms wrapped around her waist as he nuzzled into her lap. 

She moved her palms to brush over his soft ears, watching them flicker, so sensitive. Then she bent low to whisper right up against the silken softness of one ear. “You are so sweet. What a good gift you are, so delicious! Would you like to touch me?” 

He turned to face her and nodded. 

“Come closer, then.” 

He rose up and she cradled his face against her chest. She felt his breath heat the flesh over her racing heart. She also felt the light yet firm drag of his sharp blue claws as they brushed over her nipples, teasing her over the thin fabric of her shirt. 

Realizing she wore nothing underneath, he sighed happily. She leaned back and he leaned forward, slipping his hands underneath her shirt to feel the soft warm flesh of her breasts and firm peaked nipples.

Soon enough she pulled her shirt off and he sucked and licked one nipple as he squeezed and pinched the other. His touches felt feather-light, yet deliciously intense; the sharpest point of a carnivorous tooth dragging lightly over the tender nerves on the tip of her nipple. 

When she looked again into his eyes she saw them clouded over with dark static, a shifting black and blue snow storm, a crawling bruise. 

She spared a glance at the leash on the bedside table. Then she put the sharp tip of her pointer finger right below that blue bow tie at the base of his neck. 

“You are such a pretty gift, all decorated in blue, topped with a bow,” she said. “Shall I unwrap my gift?”

A low moan, a static hiss. He was having trouble getting words past his teeth. “Yes,” he said. “Be careful. I am not pretty, sinner. You don’t know. But I am your gift; do what you wish.”

He unbuttoned his blue jacket and rolled his shoulders to slide it off, but she stopped him. “No, you’ll keep that on.” Her sharp fingertip cut through his high collar, his bow tie, and sliced down the cross pattern on his dress shirt.

His narrow chest heaved, bare and vulnerable flesh framed by his formal tailored coat. 

“Lie down, right here.” 

He stretched out his long limbs on the bed before her.

She paused a moment, staring, starry-eyed and drunk with the sudden access to all of his body. The length of his limbs, the bare breathing chest, the wet, sharp teeth shining as his mouth closed and opened softly, still curved down at the corners, melancholy. 

“Alright.” She straddled his slender form, not putting too much weight directly on him. “Shall I?” She held up her fingers in front of his face, flexing the numerous joints. 

Just as he began to ask politely for it, she pierced his chest with her fingertips. “I’m not naturally a sadist,” she said, apologetic, as his blood dripped from her fingers. “So I’m going to make my own fun with this.” Into the gray flesh of his chest she carved pentagrams, upside down crosses, and, in a burst of whimsy, a very crude rendering of a sharp-toothed smiling face right above his navel. 

All the while, the blue demon’s hands grasped her thighs, claws digging in as he moaned. 

As she settled back, watching the cuts heal, she felt his cock, desperately hard, press up snugly against where her thigh met her crotch. Her fingers twitched and her eyes grew wide as she felt the sheer size of him. Without hesitation she began to rub against the delicious length. “You are a gift that keeps on giving,” she whispered. 

Strong claws gripped her arms and held her firmly in place. He sat up suddenly, his face pressed to hers. “Wait,” he said. 

“Are you alright?” She asked. “We can stop if this isn’t good for you.”

His body began to tremble and shake lightly. “It’s so good,” he said. “But I want, oh; I want--” He buried his face into her neck, weeping, tears collecting in her clavicle. “I want,” he moaned. “I’m sorry. Oh, please!”

She put her hands on his shoulders to part him from her, looking into the shifting blue depths of his eyes, chaotic and unreadable. “What is it? What is wrong? Tell me what you want!”

Tears streamed from his eyes. “I cannot ask; I dare not say. It’s too much. It’s more than I deserve and more than I should take.” 

A million nightmarish things flitted through her mind before she heard the thing she expected the least.

“Kiss me.”


	3. Strings Attached

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More explicit sexual content, which is the point I guess!

On instinct, she covered her mouth, to hide its vicious rows of teeth. A kiss? She tried to imagine it with him: their mouths meeting, sharp teeth snagging. 

“I-” she began. 

He pulled her hand from her face, stroking her cheek with his other hand. 

“Please,” he said in a bashful whisper, head bowed, soft blue hair falling in front of his face. 

“I haven’t kissed anyone since,” she trailed off, momentarily gazing upwards. “My teeth could hurt you,” she told him. 

His hand crept to her bare lower back and gently swept over a tender spot that made her whole body arch into him. 

“Please do.” The final syllable of the word was barely repeated before her mouth pressed against his, smoothing his frown into a softer shape. 

He returned the kiss and fed her with sweet moans. Long, dreadful, teeth scraped against hers before she gave in, opening her mouth to him. Claws twined into her hair as she was pressed back bodily into the mattress, his tongue pushing into her mouth, exploring each jagged row of teeth. He closed her lower jaw until her many teeth pierced his tongue, filling her mouth with his acrid, bitter black blood. The blood slid down her throat with the burn of a good whiskey, and similarly warmed her from the inside as it settled in her gut. He pushed his fingers into her mouth, keeping it open, peering in to see her teeth stained with his blood. He sighed in satisfaction, his own black blood coating his teeth, drool dripping from his chin.

His entire body heaved and trembled, and he sat up, pulling her with him, keeping her pressed against him tight. 

“My blood in your gorgeous mouth,” he whispered, warm against her ear. “You have so many teeth. You could rip my throat out. Oh, you could! Would you? Do that for me? Could I do that to you? Oh, sinner! Oh, your blood and mine, your flesh and mine; we should be joined together now.” Claws ran up and down her bare back. “Your precious flesh, your delicate bones hiding sweet marrow like honey, how I want all of it! I know you want me, too.” His words dissolved into heavy, wet breaths against the side of her face. 

She hissed, “Nobody’s getting their throat torn out. Calm down.”

“And I’ve told you how to calm me.” His hands flew from her suddenly to claw at his own face, as though he were overcome with a fit. “A-Ah!” 

She dove to grab the leash from the bedside table, just as twin streams of oily darkness burst from his eyes. Both of his blue eyes spilled a black malevolent substance that streamed out like fluid. It swirled, gathering mass and gaining bulk, forming into a great shadow, rapidly spreading, eating up the surrounding dim lamplight. 

For a moment, she sat still in shock as the shadow seeped around her like a rising flood. 

“Oh, I am sorry,” he sobbed, the darkness still spilling from his eyes. “So very sorry! There’s a shadow always with me, crouched behind my eyes. It’s been waiting for you, biding its time. It wants you so badly. It tells me to do the most horrible things!” 

The shadow trailed off like mist, sliding over the sides of the bed, out of sight. 

The Radio Demon’s eyes were now limpid blue, tearful, regretful. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “We should have been sweet together. It always ends like this. It’s what I’ve created, what I deserve! I know! I know!” He reached up and tore at his soft blue hair with his claws. “Stop telling me! I know what I have done! I know that I’ll do it again!” 

A sinking feeling came over her, cold and odd. 

The shadow reared up like a massive wave, rising behind her, leaning over, oppressing her with a heavy darkness.

She moved forward just as she felt the shadow descend. It’s intent, she felt, was not to hurt her, but to hold her in place as she was ripped apart. Quickly, she clasped the metal collar around Alastor’s slender neck, feeling a painful singe as she secured it.

When the holy metal met his skin, he gasped and flinched, tears streaming down his face once again. 

The shadowy mass behind her retreated. It did not go away completely, nor did it resume its advance. It slid up the wall and covered the entire ceiling, where it shivered and trembled in an undulating motion. 

She looped the handle of the leash carefully around her wrist and yanked it firmly, bringing the demon’s head down low.

“I should have known,” she said. “A gift? More like a blue Pandora’s box. You certainly do come with strings attached.”

“Yes,” Alastor said, his voice hoarse and broken with static breaths hissed out between his hungry teeth. “If you want to have me and stay intact, this is the only way. Neither my shadow nor I will grievously harm you as long as the collar remains on. The pain focuses me; my shadow torments me. It won’t stop telling me what I have done to the others and what I should do to you.” 

She gave the leash a firm pull. “What do you want to do to me?” 

“Oh!” He gasped,weeping. “E-Everything. Everything you can think of, as many times as you’d like.”

“Vague,” she said, and moved up the length of his body, and tugged at his waistband. 

He gazed at her; his eyes overcome, clear blue and dreamy, as though she held before him the thing he treasured most. “Are you certain I am what you truly want?”

“Alastor,” she said, feeling how the name still didn’t sit right on her tongue. “We are both sinners, here in hell, trying to grasp what we want. Strings or not, you are a gift, my first and probably my only down here. We can have each other now, cursed as we are. I want you.” 

“Then have me, if you can keep hold of me.” He stroked the blue silk bow at his neck where the leash was attached. “Take me.” He slid off his trousers, lifted his hips with a fluid motion, and she felt the bare, long, thick length of him pressed up against her, warm and intimate. “Use me.” 

She felt the tease of the swollen, fat, wet head pressed to her clit, as he rubbed and stroked against her. His blue eyes went dark, heavy lidded, static rumbling deeply in his chest like a dark purr. 

She clutched his narrow hips, sharp fingertips piercing flesh, feeling his cock twitch as his flanks bled. 

He took himself in hand to press firmly against her entrance, and she began to shift her hips down to take him in. Her eyes watered as his girth stretched her wide, and she gasped. Greedy, she took too much of him in too fast, and yelped in sudden pain. 

He grasped her hip and cupped long, clawed fingers around her ass to stop her from moving further down.

“Slowly,” he hissed. “Let me fill you slowly; you’ll soon have all of me.” 

Then began her torment as he eased into her. He paused at the insertion of each inch and held her still for an agonizing moment, while she moaned and begged for more. By the time the back of her thighs rested against the top of his, she shuddered and rocked against him, deliriously filled.

She lifted her hips until only the tip of him remained inside, and then settled down again, learning the length of him, adjusting to the width of him, and grinding deliciously against his pelvis every time she took him to the base. She rubbed her nipples against his chest, feeling the contrast of warm bare skin and the smooth fabric of the jacket he still wore. 

His hands reached up and cupped her breasts, bringing each nipple to his mouth in turns, sucking greedily as he thrust up into her. 

With a deep groan, he shifted her onto her side, let them grind together, and then lifted up her leg so that he could slide his hand between them to pet her clit as he thrust. 

She came at last, wailing into the padded shoulder of his jacket.

“Is it good?” He whispered against her, his tears dripping into her hair. “Do I make you feel good? Let me do it again, please, please let me make you come again and again. I-I want to feel you come again.” 

“More” she gasped, “And harder. Deeper. Make me.”

He pushed her onto her back, and then sat up, abruptly pulling out of her body, his cock slick and shiny. 

“What’re you doing?” She cried out, bereft. “Get back in!”

“My dear.” He sat back, tilted his head to look up, and snapped his fingers once. “You let go.”

The leash had slipped her grip, sure enough. 

“My move,” he whispered, static buzzing in his chest. 

The shadow descended from the ceiling, resolved into Alastor’s own silhouette, and slid to the foot of the bed behind her. 

“No, no, no,” he whispered, his eyelids low, mouth open, his tears mixing with drool as he salivated. He spoke to his shadow. “I won’t do that. Hold her open. Spread her wide, part her soft thighs. Like that. Make it good, so good and gentle. Make her happy. Ah, the smell of this sinner. The smell of you is good enough to kill me twice.”

His shadow wrapped its long arms around her legs, spreading them wide, holding her in place with a firm, spectral strength. 

Alastor drew back and bent his long, slender body low, his breath warm against her sex, his sharp teeth nearly touching her tender flesh, swollen, flushed and dripping, just for him. 

The sight of his demonic face, great blue eyes mad with arousal between her thighs, made her tremble in his shadow’s grasp. The feeling of being at his mercy, held by his shadow, was overwhelming. 

“That’s it, darling,” he said fondly, as he reached out to gently spread her wet folds with his hand. “Give in now, let me play. I’ll make you feel so good, sweetheart.”

Her head tipped back and she opened her mouth wide to moan into the air. Her moan blended into the static hiss of his own voice as he exhaled,“Yes.” He wet his fingers in his mouth, then gently pushed up the skin of her clitoral hood to reveal her swollen, sensitive, pink button. “There.” He flexed his sharp blue claws, extending his pointer finger, and in a soft, ghost of a gesture, swept the sharp, pointed tip of his claw lightly over her wet, exposed clitoris. Then he did it again and again, lighting up the sensitive nerves as he barely touched her, entranced with her body’s response to him, until his hand was drenched and coated in her fluids. The wet, soft slide of his fingers followed, circling the surface of her entrance. Soon enough, he had three fingers buried inside her while his thumb pet her clit. He worked her over with clever, practiced motions. His claws never cut into her flesh, but added a tantalizing length and curve to his reach, and the smallest sensation of a scrape, a little bite from within. 

He made deep, perverse moans of appreciation and approval as she came hard on his hand. 

Eventually, he removed his hand from her, collapsing over her, pressing close and breathing into her ear. “What a sensitive body,” he praised. “What a tender, delicate cunt you have, darling. Let me taste you. Oh, let me, please!” 

“Yes,” she groaned out. It was the most coherence she could manage.

The Radio Demon stroked her face and kissed her mouth once, fierce and deep, scraping his teeth against hers. Then he brought his kisses down her body, folding up his long slender legs to adjust his position, and she admired how his body bent at odd angles and then smoothed out, first brittle-looking as a scarecrow, then curving like the boughs of a willow tree draping into a lake. 

She reached out towards him, wanting to grasp his tiny antlers or stroke his soft fluttering ears, but then her arms fell to her sides as he sucked her clit and grazed it with the sharp points of his teeth. It was a practiced motion, gentle and rhythmic, and pleasure burst through her, building up, settling, and building back up again until the palms of her hands went numb from the onslaught of sensation. 

He then slid his tongue up into her, and she felt the length of it increase beyond reason and curl, furling and unfurling against that ridge of sensitive flesh deep inside her that needed the most, sweetest pressure. He pushed and pushed more and more firmly with his expanding tongue until her body shuddered and squeezed helplessly around him. 

The feeling of that long, long tongue pulling out of her trembling, post-orgasm body slowly was not one she’d soon forget. 

Still held in place, she cupped his jaw and looked him in the eyes gratefully, as though his tongue had just granted her the redemption she knew she’d never earn. Squeezing his jaw, she let her fingertips pierce his flesh. 

His eyes rolled back into his skull as he heard her say, “Put your cock back in me now, and don’t you dare pull out again until you’ve come inside.” 

He took himself in hand and stroked his length, bringing it up to her, sliding it inside much more easily now. Her soft, warm clutch held his aching hardness just so, and he rolled his hips slowly, finding his way deeper and deeper into her body until he could go no further. 

She cried out for god as he slowly nudged against her cervix, and he settled his mouth over hers, swallowing up her blasphemies. 

He kept her transfixed just like that until she begged out loud for him to move. A snap of his fingers and his shadow moved its grip from her thighs to her ankles, folding her body in half, holding her legs in place for him. 

He withdrew from her body until just the tip remained inside, and fixed her with a sad and soulful gaze.

“You should tell Alastor what a good gift I was for you,” he sighed, before thrusting his entire length into her at once, drawing back, and repeating the motion again and again. The speed of his thrusts increased, along with the obscene, soft slaps of wet flesh. He increased his pace to a frenzy, only to wind down to fuck her deep and slow before building up speed again. 

Never, not even in her mortal life, had she ever been so thoroughly filled and fucked, so considerately defiled. 

Above her, the demon who was her gift gasped, wept, and began to desperately beg, each “Please” punctuated with a snap of his hips. His slender, long body arched over her, and his shadow abruptly let her go.

Her legs wrapped around him tight. His arms slid beneath her to hold her just as tight, his claws drawing blood as they traveled up her back. 

When she slipped her hands beneath his coat and pierced the skin on his lower back, he thrust frantically and came, spilling tears into the crook of her neck as he spilled his release deep inside her body. He rocked against her, holding her close as his body spent and spent.

When he had no more left to give, he pulled back from her to observe the mess he’d made of her. Chest heaving, she swallowed deep breaths and swore softly, feeling weak and thoroughly used. 

Gentle, wet drops fell upon her bare chest, she looked up to see him bent over her once more, weeping. He stroked her breasts and belly, trying to speak, but only emitting brief stutters of static and awkward blurts of sound, like a broken radio. His noise became louder, more chaotic, and his entire body began to convulse, limbs shaking and trembling.

She reached out with her palms to stroke his hair, and gripped the handle of his leash tight, giving it a short, hard yank.

“Oh,” he gasped. “Thank you. Please keep hold of me.” 

“Do you ever stop crying?” She asked the blue demon, her gaze following the tracks of endless tears spilling down his face.

“Does he ever stop smiling?” Alastor asked, looking down at his sinner as she folded her legs and settled onto her side.


End file.
